“Maybe it’s because you’re jaded,” she was told.
For a moment, she was struck with fear because the idea that she’d been living disillusioned on the concept of love and of trying to love was so raw, so real and ever so powerful.
And tonight she comes upon a stray thought, and one just as terrifying: “I’m afraid to try because you might be a repeat of my past… and we know how that ended — heartbreak, tears, regrets and shorter hair.”
So she fears for herself.
“I’ve begun to feel like my day is incomplete without a conversation with you. Men are terrible creatures,” she concludes. “They are foreign. Strange beings I have no prior knowledge of. What do I do?”
Sleep, I tell her, it’s both a refuge and an escape.